It
wasn't that he didn't want to do it. It was just that he had
more important things to work on, things that required his precious
time and energy, things that did not involve sitting on a bench and
watching seven little rug rats as they wrecked havoc on the poor,
defenseless room. Odd toys littered the area, some looking scarier
than any sane child had reason to own. Others looked more normal, if
there were such a thing. A toy was a toy, which ultimately meant it
was nothing more than a noise machine, and after an hour of hearing
the same repetitive pounding noises, he'd had enough. Ten minutes
of playing "keep away" from the youngest set didn't help his
temper, because if they banged on that metal can one more time he
was going to ram it up their collective skinny white asses and string
them up as food for the wraith. He found himself spent and sulking
in the corner, nursing a growing knot on his shin.

To
say that Dr. Rodney McKay had no patience for kids was the
understatement of the millennium. They talked too much. Asked too
many questions, then asked questions about those questions and made
his head spin faster than a frog in a blender. It wasn't their
curiosity that got to him. It was the fact that, dammit, they should
already know this stuff, and he therefore had no patience to explain
to these kids what, for him, had been a simple concept at age eight.
These were smart kids, sure. The way they outfoxed him and stole
back their can to beat upon proved that. But educated?

Who
the hell thought a school would be a good idea anyway?

It
was in fact Teyla's idea. Get the kids together once a week, spend
a few hours with a member of the Atlantean team, and learn tidbits
about science, diplomacy, and literacy. Expand their horizons, since
the gate was active and they were gradually being exposed to more and
more outside influences. The exposure was unavoidable, even on the
mainland. Sure the Athosians knew of other cultures. But their
small universe was expanding in ways that kept Teyla in late night
conferences with Elizabeth. Still, it was a poor excuse for dragging
him on board. And the tall dark-haired kid, who was more intelligent
than Rodney liked, had been giving him more grief than Colonel
Sheppard could have dreamed of handing out. He had made a mental
note after first seeing the glint in the child's eye not to have
them introduced.

The
problem was, this was turning into a longer schooling process than he
cared for, because these kids hadn't left yet. He totally blamed
Teyla and her bureaucracy.

Rodney
sighed and made another attempt at contact. He stood and limped to
the center of the room. "Okay, munchkins, you've had your fun.
Now can I finally demonstrate?" He reached down and swiped the can
from the oldest boy, keeping his shins from kicking distance.
"Where's the other one?" It narrowly missed his head, and the
kids laughed. "Oh, very funny." He picked it up, cautiously,
and faced the rowdy group. "Now listen up. What I am about to
demonstrate may seem impossible, but believe me, it's going to do a
lot to protect my sanity. Now pay attention." He held up one can,
and reached for a string from his pocket.

"What
we have here," he muttered, searching his pockets, "is a failure
to. . .failure t – crap I know I had some. . ." laughter erupted
again as his young, dark-haired nemesis produced a long string from
his sleeve.

"Ah,
yes. Well. . .thank you." Rodney snatched it away, glared for a
moment, then knotted the end. He passed the string through the
bottom of the can and gave an experimental tug. "What we have
here, is a failure to communicate. Therefore I've come up with a
solution, which is to be expected."

"My
dad says you're weird," nemesis boy chirped.

"Oh,
which dad would that be, hm? The one with four rings in his nose or
the one whose head looks like a disfigured armadillo?" Rodney
looked up sharply, then realized he may have gone too far, because
the kid did look a bit hurt. Damn him. He could solve this, he
wasn't Rodney McKay for nothing.

He
thrust a can into the kid's hand. "Here. You hold this."
Rodney secured the string to the bottom of the other can and backed
away, pulling the string taut. He raised the can to his mouth, and
motioned with his finger. "Put that one to your ear." He
demonstrated.

The
boy did as he was told, and Rodney, very clearly, said "Hello?"
through the makeshift wire.

The
boy's eyes widened. Rodney waved his hand encouragingly and put
the can to his ear.

Hesitantly,
the boy brought the can to his lips. "HELLO?"

"CHRIST!"
Rodney yanked the can away just as the door behind him opened.
"Teyla! Oh thank god."

"Are
you making any progress, Rodney?" She smiled at the kids, who were
suddenly the poster children for model behavior.

"Oh,
loads." A false smile pasted itself to his lips. "Can't wait
to do this again."

"Would
tomorrow at the same time be convenient?"

His
heart actually stopped. "No! I mean, not really, I have a uh. . .a
meeting. . .thing. . .that I have to uh. . .no, no tomorrow isn't
good, I'm sorry. Maybe Carson. Or Radek, you know he loves kids.
How long are they here for, anyway?"

"Three
days until their settlement is reinstated. Then they return to the
mainland."

"That's
politics for you. Don't know why we got involved in the first
place." Rodney sighed as he watched the kids run in circles,
dragging the can like a dog on a leash. It clanged noisily along the
floor, and that was the last straw. "I have to go now."

"Of
course. I appreciate your help, I know they can be a bit trying at
times."

"Don't
be silly. I'm Mr. Helpful. Nothing but help, all day, all the
time." He forced one more smile for her benefit and turned
abruptly. He nearly made it to the door before the can hit him on
the back of the head.

He
merely stopped, didn't turn, and walked out.

The
lab was sane compared to the din he'd just left. Rodney sighed
gratefully and sat on his stool, rubbing his pained leg and pulling
his papers to him. He flipped through them absently. Four projects,
one of which he was falling desperately behind on, sat before him,
each one obstinately demanding his attention. He couldn't
concentrate. Damn kids. Maybe it was his blood sugar, he did have
to exert himself more than was humanly necessary. A quick snack,
then back to work.

He
stood and heard a sickening crunch underneath his boot, like stepping
on a hundred egg shells at once. His eyes closed, and he swallowed
carefully before taking the time to look down at what would certainly
be a gruesome sight. There was a mashed mess the size of a small
brick on the floor, oozing from the side of his boot. "Aw. .
.disgusting!" His appetite gone and balancing on one foot, he cast
his eyes about for something to clean the mess with. He spied his
colleague as he entered, his expression hidden as he bent over his
datapad. "Radek! Come here a minute, will you?"

"What
is it, Rod. . .what the devil is that?" The datapad dropped to his
side, forgotten.

Rodney
was balancing on one foot. It hadn't occurred to him to brace
himself on the desk. "A very big, very disgusting, very dead bug."
His face was screwed tight in distaste. "I don't suppose you've
got something in here to clean this up with?"

"What
did you do?"

Rodney
rolled his eyes, and that was when he discovered holding on to the
desk was in fact a good idea. "I would think the situation was
obvious!"

Radek
remembered his pad and set it down, his eyes glued to the mess on
Rodney's boot. "How could you not see that? It looks the size
of a cat!" He knelt down, adjusting his glasses as he studied the
goo.

"Hardly,
now would you please get something to clean this off with? Come on,
my leg's cramping."

"Right,
right." Radek hurried off and returned with a workman's towel.

Rodney
winced as he cleaned his boot the best he could. The bowels strung
from his boot to the towel as he pulled it away. "Aw . . .this is
disgusting, this is . . .I'd almost rather be with the kids . . ."
The remnants of the creature was stuck to the floor, and there was no
way in hell he was cleaning that up. His boot was bad enough. He
keyed his radio. "Hey, Burns?"

There
was a faint hiss, and a sharp voice. "Yeah?"

"You
still need an alien specimen?"

"I
need loads of them, watcha got?"

Rodney
raised the towel and watched the blue goo drip from it. "Does it
have to be in one piece?"

There
was a hesitation. "Ideally. You got one?"

"I
have . . . some of one."

"I'll
send Robert up with a bag."

"Thanks."
Rodney grimaced and flung the towel down. "There. No harm, no
foul."

"And
no dirty hands," Radek responded with a huff. He snorted as Rodney
tried to pawn the towel off on him for disposal, and returned to his
own work station.

"Yeah,
well, I'm going to get something to eat now, believe it or not.
See what you can do about these while I'm gone." He snatched up
a handful of random papers and tossed them onto Radek's desk, and
ducked as they flew into the air behind him.

No
appreciation.

Radek
watched as Rodney limped around the corner, apparently all too aware
of what had been on his boot, and called it vindication.

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